


I got the gift (of one liners)

by Ediblecrayon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Chris is a meatball, Crack, Duolingo, Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 09:59:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12702534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ediblecrayon/pseuds/Ediblecrayon
Summary: Chris tries to learn Romanian. It's not as sexy as it sounds.





	I got the gift (of one liners)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heuradys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heuradys/gifts).



> Fic title is from the song The Curse of Curves.

It’s the first break they’ve gotten from filming in awhile; a week between changing locations and flying over for the next leg of the movie. It’s been a great run so far, but everyone is run ragged and bone tired, and it’s nice to have a reprieve. So naturally it only makes sense to go to Seb’s house in New York City, downing enough alcohol between them to subdue a horse before taking a redeye to Scotland. 

Maybe it’s a little unnecessary for Chris to crash at his costar’s brownstone when the studio has already set up the rest of the cast in a ritzy five star hotel. And maybe it’s _very_ unnecessary that Seb’s offer to spend the night turned into three days, but it’s a not a problem because--convenience. Not that Seb inviting Chris over for an Xbox competition with a promise to continue once they arrive overseas has anything to do with convenience, but Chris is a dumbass who’s a little bit in love, and three sheets to the wind, and right now being able to ogle Seb’s fingers button mashing a controller sounds like a _fantastic_ idea.

Chris is dragged out of his drunken stupor by Sebastian flailing a hand in his face. He’s clutching the wine bottle in one hand and one of the empty beers in the other, looking absolutely devastated. He turns big, glossy eyes on Chris, and Chris has to bite his lip from bursting out laughing when he whispers mournfully, “It’s gone.” 

Chris tugs the bottles gently from his grasp, tossing them onto the pile on the floor. “Yeah, bud, hate to say but they are.” He glances down at the couch which is littered with their decimated supplies: empty chip bags and bottles, an ashtray filled with stubbed out cigarettes from when they were too lazy to actually make it to the back porch and took turns hanging out the window. “Wanna make a supply run?”

“That depends,” Sebastian asks, voice slightly slurred from where he’s starfished out across the sofa. “You gonna let me use you as my walking stick?”

Chris rolls his eyes, trying to will down the feeling of _want_ in his gut and the pink dusting his cheeks. “Yeah, you big baby,” he concedes, tossing Seb his hat, sunglasses, and sneakers. It’s pretty late, definitely late enough that some disinterested teenager running the counter at the corner store won’t bother to give them a second look. Still, never hurts to be too careful. Last week there was a pap hanging out inside one of the hotel bathrooms in the dead of night, leading Chris to kick the unlocked stalls open Resident Evil style every time he needs the facilities. 

The resupply mission is fairly successful with no casualties; despite being inebriated both of them are rather steady on their feet, and Chris only manages to trip on a crack in the sidewalk once. They load their basket up with the essentials: chips, booze, cigarettes, and about three fun-size bags of Snickers courtesy of Sebastian. Chris gives him the side eye, but sneaks in some sour gummy worms for good measure.

They make it back to Seb’s place in one piece, and despite Seb fumbling with his keys in the lock for five minutes the trip was definitely a success. Seb darts ahead of him, throwing Chris for a loop when he bypasses the sofa and heads upstairs to his bedroom. “Probably gonna knock out after a few more beers,” he calls over his shoulder. “Might as well watch some bad TV and get comfortable. I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.”

And yeah, the thought of Chris in his friend’s bed shouldn’t send blood rushing to his dick as much as he does. He knocks his head against the banister with a groan, then trudges upstairs and into the room down the hall where Seb is kicking a pile of laundry under the bed. He queues up Netflix--some documentary about farmland?--and flops onto the mattress, making grabby hands for the six-pack. Chris forks it over, removes his shoes, and stands at the edge of the bed like the awkward meatball he is until Seb drags him down, flinging an arm and leg over Chris to keep him pinned in place once he rolls onto his back. 

“I dunno what this is,” Seb says, squinting as he plays with the television settings. “But it has _chickens._ ” He points excitedly as a very-not-chicken cow ambles across the screen. 

Chris would wring his own neck before admitting it, but Seb is goddamn adorable when he’s toasted. He pats Sebastian on the head encouragingly. “Pretty sure that’s a cow, but good try.”

They spend the next twenty minutes engrossed in crop germination and the milking process; they’re both past three sheets by now, having decided on a game that entitles them to drink every time a chicken crosses the screen.

Turns out, this documentary has an assload of farm fowl.

“That one doesn’t count,” Chris argues, spilling drops of beer as he clumsily points his bottle at the screen. “That’s a motherfucking rooster.”

Seb waves a hand from where he’s sprawled across Chris’s legs, having somehow migrated there during the film. “Totally counts. They’re like, the Mufasas of the chicken coop, man.”

Chris’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline as he squints down at his friend. “Dude, you are _tanked._

“So’r youuuu.”

“I am not!” Chris protests, as he reaches a hand to tug at Sebastian’s hair, laughing despite himself. He just so happens to be riding the border of wasted and shit-faced, thank you very much. 

On screen, a rooster crows.

“Cocoșii sunt puternici,” Sebastian murmurs sagely, nodding his head twice before cackling like a madman, feet kicking like he’s five years old and being ravaged by the tickle monster. 

“What the hell is that?” Chris sits up, resolutely ignoring his double vision as he rolls Sebastian off him. “You’re insane, you know that? What does that even mean? Something is something? I got ‘is.’”

Sebastian grins, leaning in to brush their noses together, and Chris feels his heart stop. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Seb drawls, petting Chris’s cheek and narrowly missing his eye. “What’re you gonna give me if I tell you?”

And well, that thing about liquid courage isn’t exactly a myth. 

There’s heat pooling in his groin and Seb’s giving him the come hither eyes, so Chris says “Fuck it,” rolls them over and attacks Seb’s mouth like a starving man. There’s a few seconds of Seb making flaily hands like he doesn’t know what part of Chris to grab onto and then he’s fisting Chris’s shirt and sucking on his lower lip, hard. Chris manages to get a hand down the back of Seb’s waistband to palm at his ass; Seb tries to drag Chris’s shirt over his head without breaking their game of tonsil hockey, and there’s not a lot of talking afterwards.

They never do agree on the terms of the bet.

* * *

The next day finds them both sore and hungover, pleasantly achy, pursuing a hole in the wall coffee shop a few blocks from Seb’s house at six a.m. Sebastian had been whole-heartedly against waking up at the ass crack of dawn, but Chris had banged out the puppy eyes and wheedled, “It’s going to be early, no one will recognize us; we’ll get the fresh stuff; we’ll be in and out, we can spend the rest of the day in bed and I’ll do that thing you liked.”

Never let it be said Sebastian wasn’t a sucker for his new boyfriend. Who is apparently trying to learn Romanian. Aww.

He’s standing at the opposite counter waiting for their pastries while Chris scrolls through his phone. Chris pokes diligently at the Duolingo app on his phone (“On adjectives. Don’t want to blow my streak!”) when he takes a swig of coffee, glances down at the screen, and promptly spits it out like he’s in some sort of comedy sketch. The barista turns her nose up at them and saunters back down the counter while Seb ugly laughs through his nose and blots up the mess like the good breakfast date he is.

“What the fuck?” Chris rasps, waving his phone in Seb’s face. Seb glances at it and has to rest his head on Chris’s shoulder to keep from cackling. “You could have given me a warning, you dick.”

Sebastian snorts unattractively into Chris’s collar. “Aw c’mon, where’s the fun in that?” 

The barista princess returns with their baked goods, giving one last sniff in their direction as she slides the bag across the counter. Sebastian grabs it and loops his free arm through Chris’s, steering him towards the exit. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.” When Chris glares at him suspiciously he leans up to smack a kiss to his earlobe. “Just wait until I bring out the dirty talk.”

Chris flushes scarlet, and Sebastian grins when he subtly adjusts his jeans. “You’re not going to make me use Duolingo in the middle of sex, are you?” he rasps as they head back to Seb’s place.

“Nah, I’ll give you a play-by-play. Might even give you some notes, teach you a thing or two. Conjugate _something.”_

“Yeah, _something_ ,” Chris mutters, hiding his face behind his coffee cup as his flush seeps into his beard. “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat, his free hand coming down to twine with Sebastian’s, a smile quirking his lips. “Sound like a good way to spend a day off.”

Sebastian squeezes his hand. “It is. Say something for me?”

“Okay, um… Eu nu sunt un…no,” Chris pauses, his expression changing from deer-in-headlights to evil-bastard-in-headlights in the time it takes Sebastian to take a sip of his own coffee but not swallow. “Eu am un castravete mare.”

This time Sebastian’s the one who chokes, spitting a mouthful of latte onto the sidewalk. “What,” he gasps, sucking in a lungful of air. “How the fuck is that part of an actual lesson? Are they trying to teach a language or lines from a bad blue film?”

Chris sniggers, holding up his coffee like a shield when Seb takes a swat at him. “I guess that’s the language app version of sexy. Hey!” he protests when Seb manages to wiggle a hand in his coat pocket and nab his phone. Seb twists around like a bad street performer to block Chris from snatching it back, and immediately scowls at the cheerful green accents and offending text.

With a disgruntled huff and unnecessary eyeroll, he shoves the phone back into Chris’s pocket. “If you wanted a perverted way to learn Romanian all you had to do was ask. You’d even have the bonus perk of having me seduce you with adjectives.”

Chris tilts his head to one side, pretending to think. “I dunno man, the Duolingo voice is pretty hot.”

Famous last words. 

“Okay,” Chris pants later that evening, as Sebastian rides him and purrs all sorts of Romanian filth into his ear--he could be discussing the weather for all Chris gives a damn--“you definitely win. Full points. Gold star.”

He can feel Seb’s smirk as he licks a path from Chris’s ear down his clavicle. 

“Told you so.”

* * *  
Things remain blessedly Duolingo free for the next day or two. They only have a week left before it’s back to filming their respective projects, so they’re doing their best to milk every second that they can. It’s peaceful, quiet.

Sebastian really should have known better. 

It’s a miserable, rainy Monday morning and neither of them have anywhere to be. Sure, there’s a couple of scripts to be read and emails to be answered, but otherwise nothing that can’t wait. So naturally, shitty weather calls for pajama day. Or in their case, naked-stay-in-bed-day.

So of course it’s in the middle of some heavy making out and a good, lubey handjob when Chris sucks a bruise below Seb’s ear and whispers, “Eu nu sunt un băiat bun,” and then bites down on Seb’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood.

Seb doesn’t think he’s ever come so hard in his life. 

“You,” he rasps, pointing an accusatory finger at Chris once the stars have cleared from his vision, “are a _fucker._ And then proceeds to kick Chris off the mattress, along with half the sheets while he snags his phone from the bedside table. 

There’s a fit of hysterical laughter from the floor, and Sebastian leans over to see Chris rolling around in the bedcovers, clutching his side like an idiot.  
Seb’s heart might turn warm and gooey, just a little.

“What can I say,” Chris wheezes, “I’m a dirty boy.” 

The mess of sheets and feathers that the impromptu pillow fight causes is totally worth it.

* * *  
The rain has evolved into a thunderstorm by the time the afternoon rolls around. They eventually migrate to the couch, buried beneath warm blankets and surrounded by the decimated remains of pepperoni pizza. Some awful modern take on Romeo and Juliet is playing on the television and Seb is comfortably sleepy, feet propped in Chris’s lap as his boyfriend rubs soothing circles into the knob of ankle. 

“Hey,” Chris murmurs suddenly, softly, as though afraid to break the moment. He turns towards Seb, blue eyes bright and happy and nervous. “Te iubesc.”

Sebastian sits up like a shot, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, grabbing Chris by the collar. “Say it again.”

Chris smiles, shy and and soft and full of boyish charm. “Te iubesc.”

“Please tell me this isn’t part of your next lesson.”

Chris’s smile widens into a smirk. “Nope.”

“Good,” Sebastian declares, nodding once before clambering onto Chris’s lap and kissing him senseless. He pulls back to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind Chris’s ear. 

“Te iubesc, you meatball.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come stalk me on [Tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/edible-crayon)


End file.
